


A Familiar Poison

by Silnorne



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Jonah Wilharnn, Pre-Forged Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silnorne/pseuds/Silnorne
Summary: Captain Jonah M. Wilharnn is in Imperial custody for exactly none of the fifteen reasons he could be. Some choices are damnation either way.





	A Familiar Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue to a longer series.

'Only a matter of time' he'd said. 'You know that if you stay here they will find you'. Well, he'd been right. It may have taken them a few months, but they had found him eventually.

Jonah M. Wilharnn blinked rapidly as whatever had been covering his face was lifted, scratching loudly against the rough bristles of his beard. While it wasn't particularly bright in the room, any light at all after what felt like hours of blindness was enough to scorch his eyes and force him to blink back tears. Not that his temporary blindness had been that much to worry about; he’d already figured most of it out. The cold smooth surface against his restrained wrists was durasteel. The same bit of durasteel that made up the chair he was sitting on, probably. The periodic drafts and the airy swish sound every now and then was the opening and closing of the door. Roughly off to his left, maybe five or six paces by ear. The close proximity of body heat from two different directions either meant the room was compact or his 'companions' intended to pressure him by making him feel uneasy and outnumbered. Possibly both. The place even smelled clean and regimented. Even blinded, he had enough experience getting caught to know most of the clichés.

"Focus, Master Wilharnn." The almost bored voice came from somewhere directly ahead of him, and as he tried to put aside the discomfort to squint at its owner, a middle-aged human with short black-but-greying hair lurched into view. Smooth around the eyes and trenches in his brow, all trace of personality locked in steely grey eyes only open enough to see without letting it escape. It was the precise enunciation that marked him immediately as an Imperial. While it didn't show on Jonah’s face, a small flicker of relief swept through him. Imperials might've been brutal in their own way, but they were predictably efficient and orderly about it. In this - tiny he now saw - grey room Jonah felt as comfortable as possible given his captivity. The man opposite him, bolt upright in his own seat and clasping gloved hands on the desk, said nothing for a while. Content to simply watch him - maybe trying to make him nervous. When he did speak again, it was only to utter two very familiar words.

"Cipher Nine." Jonah let a confused frown twist his features, hitching up an eyebrow for good measure.

"I’m sorry, is that code? Buddy, I don’t know if the accent gave it away but I’m not from around here." Petty, and obviously stalling, but it felt natural to start out this way with a healthy dose of smarm even to a humourless audience. Natural was good.

"I had hoped to avoid falling into the pattern of tired one-liners your kind enjoy quite so soon," the Imperial said in that same bored tone, still and unaffected. "Over-optimistic of me, clearly.” Then he leaned forward, suddenly intense. “You know exactly what I mean, Master Wilharnn. Or I should say _whom_ I mean." So much for stalling then, it had been a long shot anyway. Jonah shrugged, giving up the pretence of ignorance as a lost cause.

"If you like. Still doesn't get you anything useful."

"You expect me to believe you don't have a way to get in contact?" _Contact?_ The smuggler frowned, genuinely this time. Beneath the tough leather of his gloves his palms started to sweat. He became acutely aware of an inch between his shoulder blades.

"I really don't,” he said carefully. “Why? You got business with him?"

"You might say that,” the Imperial said tightly. Jonah heaved a wry laugh, shaggy brown hair swaying with the shaking of his head. 

"You'll have to get in line. You're not the first interested party to shake me down for information I don't have." Why they would even bother trying was enough cause to wonder. Cipher Nine wasn’t even supposed to exist anymore, out of reach and lost to the depths of space. If Imperial Intelligence wanted him back, that probably meant anyone who’d supported the decision to disappear back then in the first place had left.

Or disappeared themselves.

The Imperial hadn’t moved an inch, except his mouth of course, but he managed to radiate annoyance anyway. Ordinarily that would be a cause for a private moment of smug triumph, but this whole thing was starting to look a little deeper than ‘whoops was that your cargo I didn’t know honest’. “Our reports indicate you were the last person in known space to see him before he vanished. I find it unlikely, given the nature of your association, he did not give you a means to contact him should you require it-”

“Whoa, now hold up,” Jonah cut in, trying automatically to raise his hands and wave them before the bite of durasteel reminded him that wasn’t going to happen. “What exactly do you mean, ‘the nature of our association’?”

“I would imagine few Republic-aligned smugglers are as inclined to travel with an Imperial Intelligence officer for so long without some unusual reason.”

“I don’t work for the Republic.”

“Not anymore, that is apparently true,” the Imperial conceded with a short tilt of the head. “Nonetheless, if I understand correctly, you were carrying cargo for the Republic when you met. Is that not the case?” It was true, of course it was true, they weren’t actually asking because they already had all the evidence on-file. So what though? Even if they were allies, even if they were friends, that had all ended across the docking bridge and Jonah had gone about his life as though the chiss had never been a part of it. That’s how they’d both wanted it. Jonah had got his life back… _just like he wanted_.

“I don’t know where he is,” he said quietly. The Imperial sighed.

“Master Wilharnn-“

_“How many times d’you want me to say it?”_ The smuggler snapped, forgetting himself long enough to pull fitfully against the restraints. “I don’t _know_! I didn’t want to know, I just wanted him _gone_! What do I care if you want to find him, it has nothing to do with me and _I can’t help you_!” Abruptly the anger left him to slump in his seat. “I can’t help you.” The Imperial watched him for a moment, probably to judge whether he was telling the truth. After a minute or two of silence he tapped his finger three times against the table top and then stood.

“I see. Thank you for your time, Master Wilharnn. I will _attempt_ to secure your release and that of your ship, excuse me.” Jonah snorted humourlessly as he left, recognising the words for what they really meant. Not much he could do to get comfortable here, but he’d have to try… it didn’t look like he’d be getting a nicer place any time soon. The second Imperial filed out after the first, giving Jonah his first good look at him before the door closed. He was nondescript, almost too much so – average height, average build, standard military cut to his dark hair and a face with no distinctive features whatsoever. Jonah frowned to himself, momentarily thrown. Usually they liked getting one of their rougher-looking officers in with the talky one, classic good-cop bad-cop sort of thing, but that guy might as well have not bothered turning up at all. Odd. Trainee? Observer? Someone not meant to attract attention.

He could hear the two of them talking outside, not enough to make out any words, but the dull buzz of muffled conversation nearby in short, clipped tones. One of them left, the buzz fading out into the distance as he kept talking. It made him think back, struck with an unwanted nostalgia, to another time, in another room very like this one. Secrecy and plots and a web so tangled he’d been sure at the time he’d never get free. The door swished open again, and Jonah tensed before he could really think about stopping himself, and then wasn’t sure if it was warranted or not. Officer Nondescript was back. 

He sat in the seat the talky one had vacated, but he didn’t look like he intended to stay long; in fact he seemed a little jittery. Not obviously, just a little too much stiffness in the posture, too much blinking. The word ‘man’ morphed into ‘boy’ rapidly in Jonah’s estimations. The boy offered him an almost apologetic smile.

“He’s not really happy about me talking to you,” he said, hushed and a little sheepish. His shoulders hitched up around his ears. In the privacy of his own thoughts Jonah allowed himself to groan; _not this routine_. Give him the stoics and the aggression any day but he hated the appeals to his sympathy and understanding, like they weren’t inconveniencing him. “To be honest I don’t see why we have to be confrontational about this.”

“Is that right,” Jonah said with as much scepticism as he could fit into three small words; it was still quite a lot. The bo- the _Imperial_ carried on as though he hadn’t said anything.

“I understand that with things as they are right now it’s probably good business for you. Arms dealing alone must be making you a small fortune.” Jonah paused massaging his bruised ego just long enough to eye him suspiciously. If that was bait for a confession he wasn’t getting it, but either the Imperial was very good or Jonah wasn’t as good as he thought he was because all he could see was blunt honesty in those green eyes staring back at him. What was he supposed to do with _that_ information? “Even so,” the Imperial continued, “there must be some part of you that wants the same thing we do.”

“Which is?” Jonah asked cautiously. The Imperial looked surprised.

“An end to the war, of course.” 

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. Laughed and laughed until he ran out of laughter and started wheezing. He laughed until he forgot he wasn’t supposed to be laughing, until he forgot he was a ransom.

“Oh… sorry,” he managed after minutes that turned into seconds of painful gasping for air, “I’m sorry, that was pretty rude, but… I mean, you must be new here, Kid.” He lolled his head around in a circle to indicate the room – and by implication the Empire as a whole – in absence of a free hand. “I don’t know if it’s hit you yet, but that’s not how these guys work.”

“What makes you say that?” The Imperial questioned, mild in his manner but something sharp underneath. Jonah shrugged.

“Experience. This war’s not ending until one side or the other gets wiped out for good,” he failed to stop the wistful note in time, “and that ain’t happening any time soon.”

“Are you sure?” That got his attention. There was more than bravado in that question, more than a dare. There was a certainty that came with knowledge.

“What do you mean?” Jonah asked almost in a whisper. The Imperial shook his head, once again apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I can’t tell you much more. Just that this war might be over sooner than you seem to believe.” The smuggler’s mind set to racing. If that was true. If that- … if it could be _over_. No, not just over but with the _Empire_ victorious? He couldn’t imagine what that would look like. Would they just take over Republic territory and declare it all done? Or would it be scorched earth from the core to the rim? How much of that victory would be awarded to the Sith, and how many of the spoils? It was such an uncertain thing.

Still…

“If you’re so sure,” Jonah said slowly, still turning the idea over in his mind to check for hidden barbs, “why would you need him? Sounds to me like you already have it all figured out.”

“With Imperial Intelligence dismantled,” the Imperial began somberly, “we have very few covert operatives left. We can’t execute this plan with just overwhelming power. We could try, but the losses on both sides would be catastrophic.” Execute was probably a word more apt than it first appeared. Jonah thought about it, about what was being asked of him. What was being asked of the Cipher agent he’d so finally said goodbye to, had helped escape this war in the first place. Not completely, it could never be completely escaped… but enough the chains of it didn’t choke them quite so much. Now they were asking – _demanding_ – for Cipher Nine to be returned to them, and more than likely Jonah would get sucked right back in with him. Risha, Corso, Romi… _all of them_ , right back where they began.

“How did you meet?” What? Jonah blinked, ripped away from his agonising by the unexpected question. “You and Cipher Nine,” the Imperial clarified patiently. “I know the broad strokes of it of course, but I admit I’m curious to hear how a Republic smuggler ended up helping Imperial Intelligence.” Jonah remained silent a moment, musing.

If it gave him more time to think this through…

With ease of practice over years and year of lies, the crooked smile slipped perfectly into place. 

“Well,” Jonah began brightly, slouching in his seat, “funny story. I was in an Imperial interrogation room - have you _seen_ those things? Anyway…”


End file.
